


Of love and labradoodles

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: But with high school crush too, M/M, Valentine's Day, meet cute, meet cute with cute pets too, vet Monty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Miller is dog-sitting Picasso but she needs to visit the vet. It's not quite the Valentine's Day Miller had planned. But then he recognises Dr Green, and his day gets a whole lot brighter.
Relationships: Monty Green/Nathan Miller
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Of love and labradoodles

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to be posting my first ever fic for Miller and Monty! Hope you enjoy this, prompter!
> 
> Please note there are some Star Wars spoilers. There are also some non-graphic sex references, a few swears, and some non-graphic description of a visit to a vet. And please don't take anything I write here to be authoritative on how to treat a sick dog, this is coming straight from Dr Google.

**Prompt more fics and find out more about the initiative at<https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/>**

Miller is pleased Bellamy and Clarke are having a romantic weekend away. Really, he is. Sure, he’s perhaps also a little jealous that they’re so in love and have their shit together, with a house and a dog and everything. But he’s mostly happy for them.

He’s happy for himself, too, because he gets to dog-sit Picasso for them while they’re away. At least he has a sociable golden retriever for company on Valentine’s day. Sure, he’d rather have an actual human date, but he takes what he can. Picasso is a good girl. He will happily share his steak with her tonight.

He’s got it all planned. Valentine’s Day falls on a Friday this year. This evening he’s going to treat himself to a nice steak dinner then put his feet up and watch a movie - something like a bit of Star Wars, probably. Something with a romantic storyline he can get behind, but that has enough action that he doesn’t feel totally pathetic for curling up in front of a film and wishing he had love in his life. Manly men can watch Star Wars, right? Manly men are allowed to cry when Ben dies. It’s a sad scene.

But then it all goes wrong.

On Friday morning, Picasso scratches her ear.

Miller tries to put it out of mind. He’s a personal trainer, so he takes Picasso with him for a jog with a client. It’s all fine. She only scratched her ear.

But then she does it again. They’re in the middle of Arkadia park when Picasso stops dead - although she normally loves running - and scratches her ear.

Miller starts worrying, then, Scratching her ear once, this morning, he could deal with. Every dog must get an itchy ear from time to time. But twice in one day, when he’s never noticed her do it before in all the time he has been Clarke and Bellamy’s regular dog-sitter, is too much.

It gets worse. They arrive back at his apartment, and Picasso starts rubbing her head against the end of the couch. She looks like she’s going crazy, poor girl. She stops again, after a few seconds, but Miller has seen enough.

Time to take her to the vet. Best do it now and catch whatever the problem is soon. And anyway, the vet won’t be open over the weekend and he knows those out of hours services are more expensive. Besides which, this is Clarke and Bellamy’s dog. He owes it to them to take good care of her. Bellamy saved his life more than once when they used to serve together - it would be poor repayment if Miller went and let his beloved dog die now.

Can dogs die of itchy ears? He hopes not.

He phones the vet. He maybe makes the problem out to be more of an emergency than it actually is, and he feels a little bad about that. But mostly he just feels relief when the nurse on the end of the phone says that a vet will see him at five this afternoon.

He tries his best to keep Picasso calm and happy for the rest of the day. If she’s in pain, he figures she might want distracting. He plays with her for a couple of hours, then tries to put her down for a nap.

But she won’t nap. She’s just scratching ever more frantically at her ear.

At last, it is time to head to the vet. They arrive slightly early, in fact, and Miller checks in with the cheerful nurse on the reception desk.

“Nate Miller with Picasso.” Miller explains.

“Picasso is a great name for a dog.” The nurse offers.

“I can’t take the credit. I’m dog-sitting for a friend.”

“A friend who likes art, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.” Miller grins.

“Monroe. Stop gossiping with the clients and send them in.” A teasing voice comes from one of the consulting rooms. A voice that sounds almost  _ familiar _ , he thinks.

The nurse - Monroe, he presumes - smiles broadly. “Dr Green will see you now.” She says, tone pointedly level.

Miller laughs. This seems like a friendly sort of place. He laughs, too, because that seems like a better idea than fixating on the fact she said  _ Dr Green _ , and he once had a crush on a guy with that surname at high school.

He can already feel his anxiety about Picasso dying away. It’s all going to be OK. They’ll fix her - and by the sounds of it they’ll fix her with good cheer. Everything will -

Wow. Huh. It turns out Monty Green grew up cute.

He’s cute in a dorky, smiley sort of way, his cheekbones standing proud and his black hair sweeping over his forehead. Sure, Miller always had a soft spot for him. But he’s cute on a whole new level, now. He looks  _ happy _ , too, and Miller starts jumping ahead at that. A guy who is happy to be working late afternoon on Valentine’s Day probably doesn’t have plans, right? He’s probably happy for the distraction. He’s probably single and available and -

And Miller should stop right about there. For all he knows, Monty is only smiling at the banter with nurse Monroe.

Sorry -  _ Dr Green _ . Must keep it professional.

“So this is Picasso?” Dr Green asks pointedly.

Right. Yes. A veterinary appointment.

“Yeah. I didn’t name her. I’m dog-sitting.”

“For an art loving friend. I heard.”

Of course he heard. Damn it. Here’s smart vet Monty and Miller is just succeeding at making himself look like a well-muscled fool. At least, he  _ hopes _ he looks well-muscled. It’s not his most flattering shirt.

“So what seems to be the problem with Picasso?” Monty - no,  _ Dr Green _ presses.

Miller takes a deep breath, forces himself to get back into the swing of what’s important, here. “She’s started scratching her ear a lot and I’ve never seen her do it before. I know her pretty well - her owners are my best friends.”

“OK. Any other symptoms?” Monty asks.

“Not really. Maybe she’s a little grumpy and lethargic? But nothing major.”

“Great. Could I ask you to lift her up onto the table for me?”

Miller nods, scoops a slightly bemused Picasso onto the table of the consultation room. He tries not to notice the way Monty watches closely as he lifts her. That’s just professional interest, right? He is presumably staring at the sick dog, not at Miller’s arms.

But a guy can dream.

“OK. I want to look in her ear. Can I ask you to hold her still? If she knows you well she’ll be more comfortable with you.”

Honestly, Miller thinks that’s unnecessary. Picasso is a very calm dog in general, and is not causing a lot of fuss in this moment. But he’s hardly about to say no to another chance to be helpful and look like a good, responsible dog sitter in front of Monty, so he holds Picasso still while the vet works.

And again, he tells himself that Dr Green is most definitely staring at his  _ patient _ , not at Miller’s arms.

Monty inspects Picasso pretty thoroughly. He starts out with her ears, moves to her mouth and to taking her temperature, too. Miller tries not to let his eyes linger as the vet works. He doesn’t want to creep the poor man out.

But it’s difficult not to stare, and difficult not to smile. It’s not just the cute face - it’s the calm, confident attitude, too, and the cheerful atmosphere that seems to characterise this practice. He wonders if anyone who works here wants a personal trainer. He wouldn’t say no to stopping by more often. Or maybe he ought to volunteer to take care of Picasso even more frequently.

At length, Monty stands back with a smile. Maybe it really is time to admit defeat and stop trying to think of him as  _ Dr Green _ .

“An ear infection. Not that serious - you caught it early. I wish all dog-sitters were as vigilant as you.” He offers.

Miller grins. “Thanks. She’s just important to me.”

“Yes. I can see that. Do you have pets of your own?”

“No. I’m wondering about getting a dog someday.” He says. He realises as he speaks that it’s true, more or less. He’s not entirely saying it for the sake of impressing Monty. He enjoys spending time with Picasso and supposes a dog of his own might be a good plan.

Monty nods. “Right. Well. I’ll just give her a shot of antibiotics and prescribe some medicine to take home with you. Then you can get back to your Valentine’s plans.” He jokes.

Miller swallows. Is this an invitation to pursue the topic? “I don’t really have any plans.” He hedges, carefully casual. “What about you?”

“As you can see, I’m working.” Monty says, brow quirked.

“No, I mean - after that?”

Silence falls. Miller curses to himself. He’s terrible at this. He’s not even sure whether Monty is into men, for goodness sake. He only ever dared watch him from afar when they were kids, never noticed him having any relationships. Miller has known all his life that he’s gay, has had years to practise his game, but he’s still terrible at reading whether a guy who catches his eye is into guys in turn. He’s still not figured out the line between banter and flirting, staring at his arms and staring at a damn  _ dog _ .

“No plans.” Monty says. He swallows, takes a loud breath. “Nate.”

That’s it. That’s the moment Miller decides he’s not totally kidding himself, here. If Monty wanted to make it clear he wasn’t interested, he would hardly have chosen this moment to admit that he actually remembers Miller.

Unless he doesn’t remember him at all? Unless he just read that on Picasso’s notes? It is the name he gave on the phone. Maybe -

Maybe he should stop right there and get on with this. He’s a brave guy. He can handle asking out his old crush who has meanwhile managed to grow into a smart and funny and  _ cute _ vet.

“You want to hang out?” Miller asks, casual as he can.

“Depends what you’re asking.” Monty says carefully. “Are you asking me because you’re worried about Picasso? Because believe me, she’s going to be fine.”

“I’m asking because you’re cute and we’re both single on Valentine’s Day.” Miller shrugs, deliberately casual.

“Thank God. I thought you’d never ask.” Monty laughs. “Were the three years I spent staring at you in high school not enough of a hint?”

Miller blinks, taken aback. “Really? You - you were interested back then?”

Monty nods, evidently totally unfazed. “Of course I was interested. Have you seen yourself? And the way you used to take care of your friends was pretty sweet. I wasn’t surprised today when you walked in here claiming an emergency because your friends’ dog had scratched her ear a couple times.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Wow. Things this good do not happen to Miller, in his experience.

But this does in fact seem to be happening, so he goes with the flow.

“Great. What do you want to do tonight?” Miller asks. He needs to ask first, because if Monty asks him, he’ll end up giving the honest answer  _ jump your bones _ and he fears that might get a little awkward. Maybe too much, too soon.

“We’re not going to be able to get a reservation to eat out on such short notice.” Monty points out. “Can you hold Picasso a moment while I give her a shot?”

Right. Yes. That’s still happening. Picasso is still the priority, and Miller probably shouldn’t let his excitement run away with him.

“We could eat take out back at mine. I was going to watch a movie.” Miller offers. It’s not exciting, but after a long day at work maybe Monty won’t want too much excitement?

“Sounds perfect. What movie?”

“Star Wars. Probably Rise of Skywalker.”

“You have  _ taste _ .” Monty offers, nodding sagely. “Perfect Valentine’s, right there. But I have to warn you I’m vegan.”

Miller grins. Of course Monty is vegan. “I have to warn you I’ll cry when Ben dies.” He throws back, light.

Monty laughs. “That’s fine too. We all have our weaknesses. Mine is for crispy tofu and yours is for brooding antiheroes.”

“Brooding antiheroes and also cute vets.” Miller offers, shrugging.

Silence falls. Picasso has had her shot, now. Monty is handing something outstretched in his hand. Her prescription, presumably. And Miller knows he is supposed to take the damn paper and leave, but he doesn’t  _ want _ to. Even though he’s going to see Monty again later tonight, he’s not quite ready for this unexpected magical moment to be over.

He takes matters into his own hands - quite literally. He reaches for the prescription, curls his fingers around the paper. But he makes a point of clasping Monty’s hand as he does so, of pulling him slightly closer.

He does it slowly, carefully. Gives Monty time to figure out what’s going on, here. Time to pull away and point out he’s technically still on the clock, if that’s what he chooses to do.

He doesn’t. Monty steps even closer. Miller closes the last of the space between them, reaches up to cup the back of Monty’s head with his other hand. He’d far rather be running his fingers through that dark, floppy hair in all honesty. It looks so soft and inviting. But he figures that’s maybe a bit much for a first kiss, so he keeps it sweet and simple as he reaches in and presses his lips to Monty’s.

Monty kisses him back - and then some. It seems like he didn’t quite get the memo about keeping it sweet and simple. No sooner are their lips touching than Monty is reaching up to clasp Miller’s arms in a firm grip, fingers digging into the thickness of his biceps. It’s a lot, honestly - a lot for a first kiss. But it’s a lot in the best possible way, hot and exciting, and it makes Miller feel  _ wanted _ . It makes him feel wanted on a day when he was spending a great deal of effort on trying not to feel lonely.

It makes him realise something, too. Calm and proper  _ Dr Green _ was definitely checking his arms out, earlier.

That thought has him smiling into the kiss, deepening it and letting his tongue tentatively join the party. He drops the prescription with more eagerness than care, takes that hand up to tangle in Monty’s hair instead. God, it feels good.

He’s never made out with someone in scrubs before now. There’s a funny passing thought. But it reminds him that Monty is at work, adds a whole new level of tantalising naughtiness to things. Monty is on the clock. They should not be snogging in a consultation room.

But they are, and it’s  _ awesome _ .

Somewhere to the right of him, Miller hears Picasso barking softly. Never mind, he decides, pushing it out of mind. She’s a friendly, excitable dog. And he’s seen her bark when Bellamy and Clarke are making out before now. Clarke has this theory she wants to show that she’s happy they’re having fun.

So Miller ignores the noise. He lets one hand skim down over Monty’s shoulders and towards his waist, instead. He pulls him a little closer, their hips pressing together. He can feel Monty growing hard just as he is, and it sends a thrill right through him. He’s never got someone off at their place of work before now, and all at once he’s wondering whether it’s something he could try. They could manage a sneaky handjob in here, right?

He tests the waters, cups Monty’s right butt cheek with a hand.

“This OK?” He asks.

“Perfect. You want to -”

Picasso barks again, louder this time. Miller is ready to ignore that, too, and ask Monty what he was going to say.

But then there is an answering bark. Somewhere, beyond the door of the consultation room, another dog is barking.

“Sorry. We’ve got a labradoodle out back.” Monty mutters, apologetic.

“That’s OK.” Miller says, laughing a little.

He reaches in for another kiss. Monty matches him, lips against -

Another bark out back. And then, loud and long, a piercing and very feline  _ yowl _ .

“A cat, too. A Russian Blue. Lovely little thing.”

Miller nods, laughing rather more. Of course there’s a Russian Blue out back. And of course Monty wants to interrupt their snogging session to sing its praises.

They go in for another kiss. This time they barely get as far as touching noses when they are interrupted by shrill birdsong.

And then all hell lets loose. The Russian Blue is yowling again - or perhaps another cat entirely. There’s another dog, too, not the labradoodle but something more like  _ yapping _ . Picasso joins in, barking joyfully, and underneath it all is the strangest pulsing thumping noise, as if someone is drumming on the floor.

“Oh god. That’s the rabbit. A Flemish Giant. I’d better go see if I can shut the others up. He must be scared shitless.” Monty babbles, apologetic.

“It’s fine.” Miller uncurls his fingers reluctantly from Monty’s hair. “I’ll see you later. You want -”

“Monty. What the hell are you -?” Monroe bursts into the consultation room, trails off suddenly when she sees the two of them wrapped around each other.

“Sorry. I guess I was just - giving Mr Miller an anatomy lesson?” Monty tries, brow quirked in a hopeful sort of way.

“An anatomy lesson.” Monroe deadpans.

Miller steps back from Monty’s arms, tries to make the best of the situation. “Ms Monroe. Hi. I’m Nate Miller.” He sticks a hand out towards her.

She snorts. “I know. I took your phone call.”

Right. Yes. An awkward silence falls.

“I’ll go see to the animals.” Monty volunteers, a little too loudly, retreating out the back door.

Miller frowns to himself. He picks up Picasso’s lead. He really hopes he hasn’t screwed up, here. He doesn’t think Monty is on the point of cancelling their date. He did seem very into that kiss, and from what he remembers from high school, Monty is a guy who embraces awkwardness.

But he did just flee out the door.

“Hurt him and I’ll hunt you down.” Monroe says, and Miller thinks she’s serious.

“I’m not planning on hurting him. I’ve had a crush on him since I was sixteen.” Miller informs her smartly.

“Oh. Oh god, sorry. You’re  _ that _ Nate. The one who got away. Shit. Let me go -”

“Sorry -  _ what _ ? The one who got away?” This is news to him. He’s recently figured out that Monty noticed him when they were younger, yes, but not that he counts as  _ the one who got away _ .

Monroe simply nods. She walks to the door Monty recently disappeared through, leans round the doorframe.

“Get out here, Green. Your boyfriend’s leaving. Let me take care of the patients.”

There’s a sort of clicking noise, a muffled curse. And then Monty is walking back into the room, ears peeping red from behind his hair, but smiling brightly.

“Hey. So - this went really smoothly.” He jokes.

“I don’t care.” Miller says, too happy to beat about the bush. “I’ll see you later, yeah? What time do you finish?”

“Seven.”

“Great. I’ll swing by and pick you up?”

“Woah. You’re overwhelming me with romance, here. Picking me up  _ and _ eating take out?” Monty teases.

Miller simply grins. He pulls him in for one last kiss. He takes Picasso - who has suddenly become very reluctant - to the door, and starts walking home.

He thinks too hard, as he walks. He wonders whether he ought to change before this date, or whether a casual dress code is sensible for take out at home. No, he can certainly put on a more flattering shirt. That won’t do any harm. He wonders, too, whether he ought to order something vegan for himself or whether he’s allowed to eat steak in front of Monty. Will that be a sticking point?

Most of all he wonders whether this is too soon to start planning the wedding. He intends to ask Bellamy to be best man, naturally.  And yes, sure, maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. But he thinks that Picasso would be a most suitable maid of honour.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
